


Bridging the Distance

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Amnesia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M, Old Married Spirk Challenge, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, Whales, old married spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: Jim misses Spock, even when they're together, and he doesn't know if Spock remembers why. Or if he ever will. Set immediately after the events of The Voyage Home.





	

In many ways, the ocean inspired in Jim the same kind of fascination that the stars always had. Strange, deep, dark, full of life and so much empty space. If he had been a different explorer, or born in a different time, he often thought he would have taken to the seas.

But as the night’s salty air filled his lungs and he stared out over the darkness of San Francisco bay, pinpricked by reflections of city lights in the water, he was glad his own life had taken him skyward.

It was out there that he’d found purpose, meaning, friendship, love-- lost it all and regained it. Though some things would remain lost, like the optimistic hope of knowing his son, he knew now that some things would always return to him. Whatever the result of tomorrow’s hearing, whether it be court-martial or imprisonment, what little he had managed to save was worth it.

The bridge was quiet tonight, but for the hum of cars behind him and the splash of waves below. Sometimes he’d look up, trying to see stars past the glow of the city, but all he saw were lights lining gilded metal. Still, it was a good place to think-- better than the crushing walls of his silent quarters.

He sensed a presence approaching, but didn’t bother to turn, knowing already who it was. Though his eyes were hungry for the sight of Spock, he didn’t know if the open affection in his stare was reciprocated or desired, so he thought it best to only look when he could no longer help himself. A shadow moved to stand beside him.

“Spock,” he said fondly, quietly. And oh, was he _weak_. He couldn’t help but turn, meeting the deep shine of those eyes he once thought he’d never be able to see again. Spock wore a cloak similar to the one he’d worn the last time he returned to Jim, all those years ago after rejecting the kolinahr. Black as his funeral robes but far more welcome a sight.

“I received your message,” Spock replied, drawing Jim's attention back to his face. “You are not prone to nighttime strolls.”

“Boredom may have won out, with you stuck at Starfleet all night,” Jim admitted. “I suppose bringing someone back to life requires quite a bit of paperwork.”

Spock nodded, considering. “Indeed. I believe my resurrection is an inconvenience to the admiralty." Jim smiled.

“Then they can answer to me.”

“I believe, Jim, that you will be answering to them.”

Jim couldn’t care about all that right now and indicated as much with a flippant wave of his hand as he turned his gaze back to the sea. What he cared about stood right beside him and spoke his name with such care and sincerity that nothing else in the universe seemed to matter anymore. Least of all Starfleet.

They had only been earthside for a day now, so maybe he was suffering some emotional fallout from the whole time-travel, near-death ordeal, but he’d never felt more in love with the man beside him as he did in that moment, nor had the thought of that love ever caused him so much pain.

They’d been assigned temporary quarters, separately, and had spent last night in their own rooms with their own thoughts, but Jim couldn’t bear to be separate anymore.

After a long stretch of silence, during which Jim shifted and tried to keep his eyes on the water, his bondmate spoke.

“Your message said you were going to ‘visit’ George and Gracie,” Spock prompted him. “The likelihood of seeing them, especially at night is--”

“Very low, yes, I’m aware,” Jim said, though his eyes scanned the water all the same. “I more wanted to visit the idea of them. They saved the world, and now they can live the rest of their lives together in peace. It’s not often anymore we get to celebrate that kind of victory.”

“You are envious?” Spock raised an eyebrow at him, and Jim leaned his elbows on the railing. He wasn’t sure if it was their bond or Spock’s powers of observation that led him to that conclusion, but envy? Well.

“Maybe.” Jim truly didn’t know if ‘envy’ was the right word. Envy didn’t encapsulate this feeling of longing, the desire for a companion who he’d once believed would be with him for life, swimming through the stars just as the whales swam through the water below them.

“Jim,” Spock said again, and Jim could swear his heart stopped every time that one syllable left his lips. He straightened up to meet Spock’s eyes. “May I ask why you requested I join you?”

Jim stared at him for a moment, took in the hard lines of age that had worn themselves into Spock’s face, the carefully controlled brow, the straight stance. He let out a sigh that got lost in the sea breeze.

“I miss you,” Jim said finally, eyes falling so he didn’t have to gauge Spock’s reaction. “I’ve missed you since the moment you died.”

“I am right here,” Spock assured him, moving closer and-- in a move almost too subtle to see-- lifting a hand as though to place it on Jim’s shoulder. He lowered it before it made its berth.

Jim closed his eyes for patience. He needed to be patient. When Spock returned, Jim understood that it would take time for the memories to come back to him, and some never would. He hadn’t yet given voice to his fear that the memory of their lives together would be one such casualty. “You _are_ here,” he said softly, “but _we_ aren’t. We used to be… Do you remember, Spock? What we used to be?”

He turned his head, just enough to keep Spock in his line of sight.

“I have some memories,” Spock said, “but it is our connection that allows me to know. We are t’hy’la.”

It had been a long time since he’d heard that word spoken, though he felt it every time he looked at Spock, remembered the weight of it being passed between their minds so many nights as they lay in each other’s arms.

“But you don’t _remember_ it, not really. You don’t remember our first kiss or any of the times we've melded. You don’t remember that shore leave we spent on Marus III with the rose garden--”

“Jim,” Spock set his hand beside Jim’s where it lay on the railing and brushed their pinky fingers together. Jim almost pulled away he was so surprised by the touch. He did straighten, knowing his face betrayed how vulnerable he felt in that moment. With anyone else, anywhere else, Jim could pretend. He could strut around the bridge of a starship and bluff his way through anything if he had to, but he could never do so with Spock.

“The memories will return.”

Jim wanted so badly to be comforted by those words.

“How can you be sure?”

To Jim’s shock, the corner of Spock’s mouth quirked. “It is a guess.”

Some part of Jim crumbled, and he smiled around a breathy laugh. “Well, Mister Spock,” he said, “I do tend to trust your guesses.”

“Perhaps,” Spock ventured, “you could help me remember.” He seemed almost reluctant to ask, cautious in the request.

Feeling his own caution was warranted, Jim raised a brow. “How?”

Spock turned to face Jim fully now, laying his hand atop Jim’s. “Tell me about our first kiss.”

Jim huffed out his nose and looked away for a moment, eyes following the flowing light that danced on the surface of the water below them. “I don’t know if that will help.”

“Nor do I,” Spock admitted, “however, it is important to you that I regain my memories-- _these_ memories in particular. Logically, and to borrow a phrase, ‘it doesn’t hurt to try.’”

Jim lifted his smiling eyes to Spock’s and half-sighed, feeling almost awkward at the prospect of recounting the memory. Spock must have sensed his reluctance, because a soothing sort of energy flowed through the touch of their hands.

“If you are uncomfortable--”

“No,” Jim said, making up his mind. “No, I want to. Like you said, it wouldn’t hurt.”

He forced himself to pull his hand from Spock’s, desperate for the touch but too vulnerable to allow himself to sustain it. “Walk with me?”

Spock nodded, once, as though confirming an order, and fell into step beside Jim as they set off down the bridge. Thanks to the late hour, they had the walkway to themselves.

“It was, oh, year two or three,” Jim said after a few moments, finding it easier to talk when Spock wasn’t staring into him, the way he had a habit of doing. “You probably don’t remember the mission, either. Standard science survey; no advanced lifeforms. I was careless.”

Spock made a small sound beside him, almost a “hmm” of disagreement, but otherwise allowed Jim to continue.

“Three crewmen died from exposure to a toxic chemical. It was in the water. I hadn’t instructed them to exercise any more caution than usual, but I should have. They were… they were young, Spock. I blamed myself. After filing the paperwork, making the announcement, I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I think you knew, at the time.”

A sad smile touched the corners of his lips and he glanced to his side. Spock’s eyes were on him, calm and considering. Comforting.

“I went to the observation deck,” he continued, eyes forward once again, “just to clear my head. Mostly, I wanted to be alone, but I didn’t lock the doors. I...” He paused, remembering how desperately hopeful he’d been in that moment-- how he’d chided himself for it.

“Why did you leave the doors unlocked if you desired solitude?” Spock asked when Jim failed to continue, and Jim smiled. He’d told Spock much later, of course, and it had been just as ridiculous to admit then as it was now.

“Because I hoped, and maybe I knew, that the only person I wanted to see would follow me. Captainly instincts, you know. As it happens, I was right.”

Spock stopped in his tracks, something flashing in his eyes. “I came to check on you,” he said, and Jim stopped moving, turned to Spock with wide eyes.

“You remember?” He took Spock by the elbow and Spock’s eyes fell to Jim’s hand.

“No,” he said. But then amended himself, “Or… perhaps. Please, continue.”

Jim’s heart sank and he lowered his hand, but the two of them remained still, standing there in the cool sea air, facing each other but not meeting eyes. “You… _did_ come to check on me,” Jim said. “You told me it wasn’t my fault, and I snapped at you. It was three of your best scientists I’d lost, and part of me wanted you to be angry with me.”

“To what end?”

With a small smile, Jim shrugged. “To validate my insecurities, maybe? I don’t really know anymore, but you didn’t blame me. You put your hand…” He took a breath, paused.

Heart clenching, he took a small step forward, gently grasped Spock’s hand and raised it to the line of Jim’s own jaw, thumb against his cheek. He curled Spock’s fingers the way Spock had done all those years ago. “Like this,” he said, unable to stop himself from leaning into the touch. “You put your hand like this and you looked me in the eyes and told me--”

“‘My... regard for you,’” Spock continued Jim’s sentence, as though recalling the lines of a poem he’d only read once, “‘is unchanged.’” Jim’s heartbeat faltered and he was too afraid to breathe, to speak, to break the moment. Gaining confidence, Spock moved closer, minutely, but enough that Jim almost sank into the warmth of him. “‘As is my affection.’” He paused, and his thumb brushed the curve of Jim’s cheek. “Is that correct?”

Jim’s throat tightened around what he wanted to say, and suddenly he was back on that observation deck, looking into the eyes of someone who had been a constant presence, a constant support, shamefully desired and unabashedly loved, but who remained separate from himself by what he thought was necessity. And now the only need he knew was to bridge the distance between them.

So he did, just as he’d done then, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Spock’s as those warm, familiar fingers curled into the hair behind his ear and their free hands found each other, fingers twining, intimate and warm.

Jim never thought he’d feel Spock’s lips against his own again, feel the clasp of his hand, the steady breath in his chest as it pressed against Jim’s-- not after everything. And yet, their lips fit together as though they’d never missed a day. Once again Jim felt the fire of the connection between them, ignited, alive.

They drifted slowly apart, and Jim opened his eyes to the level gaze of the man he loved.

“T’hy’la.”

Jim didn’t need to hear the weight in his voice to know how Spock felt. “So you do remember,” he marveled.

“Some,” Spock said, low and soft like a hum. “I wish to remember more.”

“We have all night,” Jim said, quiet, testing the waters. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course, ashayam.”

Ashayam, another word Jim had missed. He took a moment to absorb it into himself, to roll it over in his mind, all the while staring softly into the eyes of the man who loved him enough to say it.

“Then let’s get back to headquarters,” he finally said. “We can look for the whales another day.”

“Should we be court-martialed tomorrow, we _will_ have leisure time.”

Jim surprised himself with a laugh-- born of happiness and relief in equal measure. “Looking on the bright side, Mister Spock?”

“Merely stating a potential positive outcome to a negative situation.”

Jim smiled and pulled away just enough to place a guiding hand on Spock’s arm, leading him back the way they had come.

They fell into step beside each other, as they always did, and Jim nudged Spock’s shoulder with his own.

“So what do you want to remember next? The rose garden? Or, well, I could tell you about the first time I met your parents.”

“There is no need to recount painful memories, Jim,” Spock said so sincerely it took Jim a moment to realize it had been a joke.

With a wondering sort of chuckle, Jim felt his heart soar. “Rose garden it is. I’ll spare no detail.”

Below them, as they walked and Jim recounted the tale, a spout of water shot from the sea, followed by the slap of a tail against the waves. Neither noticed, their worlds, once again, ending and beginning with each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading everyone!! This is my first year participating in the OMS challenge (though I've long lurked), so please let me know what you think! <3 Happy OMS Month!
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr!: OneDamnMinuteAdmiral


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